


A New Canvas

by spacebuck



Category: Avengers, Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve, Brooklyn Boys, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, Post CATWS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The upside to living with an artist was that you had the chance to see them perfect their craft, got to see the doodles, the unfinished masterpieces, and the things that got completed but were never posted on social media. The downside, looking past the paint stain on the walls and the ink on the carpet, was that sometimes, just sometimes, you became the art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work to any other website.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were sparked by my [friend's](http://trickstersherlock.tumblr.com) headcanon, that Steve would sometimes get bored and draw all over Bucky sometimes. It kind of escalated, oops.

The upside to living with an artist was that you had the chance to see them perfect their craft, got to see the doodles, the unfinished masterpieces, and the things that got completed but were never posted on social media. The downside, looking past the paint stain on the walls and the ink on the carpet, was that sometimes, just sometimes, you became the art.

“Can I move yet?”

“No.”

“How about now?”

“No, Bucky.”

“Ca-“

“I swear Bucky if you don’t stop asking questions I’m drawing on your face.”

“Fine.”

Throughout the whole exchange, he hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched. He was getting good at this. Except his nose was starting to itch. Keeping his breath as shallow as possible, he scrunched his face up, trying to scratch without actually scratching. It didn’t really work. He made a noise of annoyance and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the soft brush strokes over his ribs rather than the strange sensation in his nose. This wasn’t the first time he had sat for Steve, whether the other man was drawing him, or drawing on him, but it was by far the longest. He didn’t even know what was being drawn on him, only that it covered his entire back and was now extending around his right side. At least Steve had invested in proper costuming body paint, so this time it wouldn’t crack and flake off before he was done.

“Lift your arm up.”

Bucky sighed and lifted his arm from its resting position on Steve’s shoulder as the artist placed the brush down and picked up the sponge. He felt the rapidly drying paint pull, but didn’t feel it flake or tear, which was a good sign. The cool touch of the paint-covered sponge lasted for a few minutes, and then there was the rattle of the finishing spray canister. A light mist across his back and chest, and he sighed, carefully rolling his shoulders and neck before finally relieving that infernal itch on his nose.

“Let me grab a drink before you take photos, Steve.” He slowly moved to the cramped kitchen, filled a small glass with water, and headed back to the studio, perching on the stand he had been seated on. “So, what did you draw on me this time?” The last had been a skyline of 40’s Brooklyn, the time before that a tattoo-styled panther crawling down his spine. When he glanced down, he could only see red and white, and he could only draw blanks. The other man just smiled secretively and rinsed his gear in the tub of water next to him. He always got like this, never actually telling Bucky what he had drawn, letting him find out either through pictures, or a handily placed mirror.

Drying his hands on his paint-stained jeans, the blond stood and retrieved the camera off the desk under the window. “Come on, babe, be patient.” He was grinning outright now, as Bucky glared at him over the rim of his glass before setting it down out of the way.

He rearranged himself, pulling his legs up onto the stand and setting his shoulders.

“Maybe put your arm over your legs?”

He did so without complaining, and heard the click of the shutter a few times, before he glanced over his shoulder. As soon as he did, the shutter went off again, and he gave Steve an exasperated look, to which the other man just stuck his tongue out as he took a few more photos, moving closer and walking around to get this angle or that highlight. He then silently went back to the desk, and started uploading the files to the laptop resting there. His shirt rode up as he leaned over, and Bucky couldn’t resist, dragging his fingers lightly over the exposed skin as he joined Steve at the computer. He was starting to get used to being able to just touch whenever he wanted to, and relished the contact as much as he did the fact that it was Steve he was touching. He peered over his shoulder, hand sliding up his back underneath the too-short tee as he did.

“Aaaaand posted. And look at that, Buck, you’re famous!” The bigger man shifted out of the way, grinning, as Bucky took over the mousepad, clicking into the images as notifications started popping up in the corner of the screen.

“Only because a billion people follow your dumb blog.”

“It’s only dumb because you’re on it, Buck.”

His retort was lost as he stared at the pictures, absolutely fascinated with the artwork that was still on his skin. Steve had gone for something different again, painting essentially what was under the skin at different layers across his back. The edges were blurred into the unpainted skin, and it progressed through tensed muscles down to the jut of bone that was his ribcage under his arm.

“There is no way that is on my back”

“You callin’ me a liar?” There was laughter in the response, and when Bucky glanced over his shoulder, it was to see that while he had been staring at the photos, Steve had retrieved one of the full length mirrors from the cupboard door and was holding it out so Bucky could see for himself.

“Jesus, is there anything you _can’t_ draw?”

“Plenty I can’t draw. I saw a really neat tattoo online and thought I’d give it a shot.”

When Steve had leaned the mirror against the desk, Bucky reached up and tugged his head over giving him a soft kiss. He smirked, whispering against Steve’s lips “Wanna help me wash it off?” His boyfriend’s grin widened as Bucky moved backwards until he was just out of reach, eyes taunting, before turning and sauntering towards the bathroom. He heard the sharp intake of breath as he began to undo his jeans as he walked, the fabric slipping down over his hips slightly as he did. Then he heard the soft thump of cloth hitting wooden floor as footsteps came after him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey Buck”

“Yeah”

“I entered that art show you told me about.”

The one-night-only show was being run by a community gallery, and was all about collecting amateur and budding artists, and giving them a chance to present their work in a gallery setting. Bucky had brought it up a week before, when he had seen a flyer about it, but hadn't mentioned it since. Now, he grinned at Steve from where he was sprawled on the couch. “Yeah? What are you going to enter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I kind of have an idea. But …”

Steve came over to the couch, moved Bucky’s feet out of the way, sat down, and settled the other man’s feet on his lap. His fingers traced patterns over his instep and Bucky sighed, relaxing further into the couch. “But what?” When his boyfriend didn't answer, he wiggled his toes, nudging Steve’s thigh with one foot. “But _what_ , Steve?”

“I might have agreed to paint the work as part of the show.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not. It’s what I said I’d make the work on.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, then lifted his head off the arm of the couch, glaring down at the man at his feet, who was purposely avoiding his gaze. “You _didn’t_.”

There was silence, and the tips of Steve’s ears were turning pink.

* * *

“I’m still not impressed with you Steve.”

“You agreed. You didn't have to.”

“Doesn't mean I’m happy about it.”

Steve looked so guilty that Bucky couldn't help but drape an arm across his shoulders and kiss his cheek. “Just go sign in, and bring me back coffee. Least you can do, considering you made me get up this early.” He gave him a little push in the direction of the reception desk, taking the backpack out of his hands as he did. Swinging it onto his back, Bucky peered around the gallery entrance. It was clean, polished, and sharp, but just avoided being clinical. It was professional, especially for a small gallery. However, the news had spread that not only was Captain America submitting a piece, he was actually painting the piece during the show. There were people already lining up out the front, even though the gallery didn't open for another hour. He was glad they had come in through the back, avoiding the growing crowd.

With a sigh, he glanced in Steve’s direction, realising that he was coming over with the receptionist. And coffee. Taking the cup wordlessly, he nodded in a manner he hoped was polite as Steve introduced him to the man. He supposed it would be polite to verbally greet him, but only managed a half-sleepy half-panicked noise when Steve elbowed him. He sipped at his coffee, nearly burning his mouth out, and steeled himself. He was the Winter Soldier, he could handle one art show.

The man showed them to the area they’d be working in, and Bucky grit his teeth. He had no idea why he had agreed to this. Steve’s damned puppy-eyes had gotten him good. Again. Walking towards the small podium in the centre of the room, he scanned the work that was already in the gallery. It was good, really good. A fair few of the artists were here already, either making finishing touches to their submissions or looking at other work. A couple had noticed Steve and were talking to him, and he could see a gesture or two in his direction. At least Steve was calling him James, and letting him decide when he’d actually show who he was. The grey hoodie he was wearing helped hide his face, and he sighed, knowing he’d have to shed that protection soon. Better to do it on his terms. “Come on Blondie, let’s get this party started.” He placed the nearly empty coffee cup on the stand, and reached behind himself, pulling his hoodie and shirt off in one go. Ignoring the shocked noises as people realised exactly who he was, he grabbed his coffee again and settled himself on the stand, folding his legs underneath him. “Bring me another coffee too, while you’re at it.”

* * *

They were a few hours into the show, and Bucky had to admit, he was having more fun than he had thought he would. His fun was mostly coming from spooking people though. Most people walked in, and thought he was some sort of sculpture, considering he was completely still, barely breathing, so Steve could paint in peace. Then, when someone was looking at his face, often exclaiming to their companions about how lifelike the ‘sculpture’ was, he would, smile, or wink, sending the person yelping backwards. The first time, Steve had been swapping brushes, and had thumped his arm for it, but now he wasn't even twitching when someone screamed or yelled near him. The earbud in one ear was a godsend, no matter how fun spooking the public was, and more than once he had nearly fell asleep listening to one of Steve’s many playlists. But now he was getting hungry. Speaking carefully so he didn't spook Steve, or move anything too much, he said, “Hey, Steve, any food in this joint?” 

“Yeah, in the artist’s room out back. Want me to go get you something?”

“Youbetcha kid. I’ll stay out here and spook the kids some more.”

“Just be nice, Buck.”

Steve dropped a quick kiss on his cheek and dumped his brushes in water, before making his way towards the ‘Staff Only’ Door at the back of the room. The going was slow, however, as a number of people took the chance to get photos with him, paint-stained and all. Bucky gingerly stood, eliciting a gasp from some of the people who had just walked in, and stretched carefully, before recalibrating his left arm with a quick jerk. He was covered in paint, he could feel it, from the top of his jeans to the back of his neck, and right across his back. Steve had started working around his sides not long before, and he looked at the section that had come across his ribs, but couldn't see anything beyond colour. He checked that his hair was still in the rough bun it had started in, then slowly turned, taking the time to just look at the crowd. It was fairly large, but at the same time looked as though the people at the doors were only letting so many in at a time, because there were a lot less than had been at the doors when they had arrived.

He quickly nabbed one of the so-far unused brushes off Steve’s pile, and spun it in the fingers of his left hand as he walked towards the small barrier that had been erected around him and Steve to give them space. There was a kid, maybe ten years old, standing right against it, waving at him, and his enthusiasm actually made Bucky smile. He walked over, and the surrounding adults’ expressions went from ‘Oh-my-god-he’s-real’ to ‘oh-my-god-that’s-the-winter-soldier’, and they all seemed to take a step back as he approached.

“Hey, kid. You here to see Cap?” Bucky crouched in front of the kid, bringing himself to the same level. The kid didn't flinch as he did so, and he was thankful for it. He could understand why the adults were apprehensive, considering the three wrecks still sitting in the Potomac, a year after the incident. It still hurt though, still reminded him of the time where he had been no more than a puppet, doing the bidding of a terrorist organisation without being able to resist.

“Yeah, but he’s not here.”

Bucky grinned, gesturing with his chin in the direction of Steve, who had nearly made it to the door, but had been stopped again. “He’s coming back though, he’s not finished painting.”

“I hope so, I really want a picture!”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to get one with you, kid.”

“My name isn't kid! It’s James.”

“Nice to meet you James, I’m a James too, how ‘bout that?”

“You’re Bucky, aren't you? Captain America’s friend from the war? The one that got taken by Hyd-”

There was a crack, and the kid looked at the now broken paintbrush in Bucky’s hand. Shit. He hoped Steve didn't need that today. With a bit of effort he forced himself to relax, and the broken pieces fell to the ground as his hand slowly unclenched. At least the kid didn't look scared, but was staring at the arm with fascination as he apologised for bringing it up.

“Can I touch it?” James bit his lip, as though he hadn't meant to say that aloud, and glanced around as though looking to make sure his guardian hadn't heard him being rude.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t touch any paint, go for it. And yeah, that’s me. Known Steve since he was a baby.” He held out his arm, resting it on the barrier lightly as the kid reached out tentatively. “It’s not going to bite, James, and it’s not going to move unless I want it to. I've had it a while, I’m pretty used to it.” He grinned, and the kid looked up, smiling back before touching the metal. Bucky could feel the pressure, but nothing else, not having needed anything else to fight effectively.

“Can you make it do the thing?”

“What thing?”

“The uhhh…” James trailed off, brow furrowed. “The thing where the bits move. But your arm doesn't. That thing.”

Bucky tensed his shoulder, purposefully this time, and gave his wrist a small flick, and the panels on his arm shifted and resettled. “That thing?”

“That is so cool!”

A couple of the other kids were shuffling closer, leaving their positions against various places against the barrier to come over.

“You don’t mind if others come over, do yah James?”

“Naw, you’re just as famous as Captain America. Can mum take a photo of us?”

“Sure, go get her. I’ll wait for yah.”

The kid cracked the biggest grin he had ever seen, and ran off to look for his mother, and Bucky shook his head, smiling. Then he glanced at the other kids who were edging closer still. “Hey, I’m not gonna bite, come say hi if you want.”

* * *

When Steve finally made it back, it was to see Bucky surrounded by people, kids and adults alike, talking, taking photos with them, and generally acting as he had before the war - relaxed and charismatic. As Steve approached, Bucky turned and grinned at him, shifting along the barrier slightly to make room for him. He hadn't stepped over the barrier, and everyone had been respectful of the ‘no-touching-unless-you-ask-first’ rule, so Bucky knew that the paint covering his back hadn't been smudged in any way, and he laughed at the relieved sigh from Steve when he checked. Taking the container and coffee cup from Steve gratefully, he sipped at the drink as the attention of the small crowd turned to Steve, and photo demands started flying. Bucky bumped his hip lightly against Steve’s and leaned in to say in his ear, the only way he could actually speak to the man over the noise of the crowd, “I broke one of your paintbrushes, sorry,” before grinning and shifting to avoid the thump from Steve’s hand that had been aimed at his chest. He stuck his tongue out at the bigger man and moved back, out of the way, before sitting on the floor and all but inhaling the food Steve had brought him. Huh, they were feeding the artists well these days. Maybe he should tag along with Steve more often.

Sipping his coffee he heard Steve say his name, and glanced up, rising and ambling over when beckoned. After Steve politely said he didn't want photos of the unfinished painting, but wouldn't mind other photos, he hooked a finger in one of Bucky’s belt loops and tugged him into the photo. Bucky draped one arm over Steve’s shoulders and canted an eyebrow as he looked at the camera, not reacting as Steve’s hand settled on his ass, avoiding the paint carefully. There was a strangled cough from the crowd as Steve kissed his temple, and Bucky shot a taunting look in that direction as he whispered to Steve, “These photos are going to be all over the internet, y’know.”

Steve laughed and murmured back, “Better make ‘em good then.”

Good thing Bucky agreed. Leaning up, he tilted Steve’s jaw with his free hand before kissing him properly as camera flashes went off, breaking off with a smirk as the strangled noise got louder. He looked at the group of people, that smirk not shifting off his face as Steve pinched his ass in retaliation. Some of them looked shocked, some of them were grinning, the kids were cheering, and there were a couple of people looking repulsed. Less repulsion than they would have received in the forties though, which was positive.

“Hey, you really think I’d let just anyone paint all over me? Sorry Clint, not even you, mate.” There was a laugh from the back of the crowd, and a familiar hand flipping them both off above the group before the owner blended back into the milling crowd in the gallery. The people who had looked disgusted left, but the others took a few more photos before Steve nudged Bucky’s hip with his own, and leaned down slightly to say, “I should get back to painting, Buck.”

He nodded, detangled himself from Steve carefully, and headed back to the stand, waving at the little James as he ran past, chasing after his mother, who had shouted, “Hi Bucky!” as he went.

Steve joined him after a moment, smiling, then went back to work as Bucky stilled himself again.

* * *

Steve finished with an hour to go, spraying a cloud of finishing spray all over Bucky. As soon as the cloud faded, Bucky stretched his back, arms extending over his head, spine popping back into place. “Go stretch, walk around, whatever, before I let people take photos” A soft voice in his ear before Steve went to clean his brushes, and Bucky accepted the offer gratefully, standing and stretching his legs, The paint had extended around and over his stomach, and he peered down, curious. It looked like … feathers? Ridged feathers across his stomach, covering both of his arms, oh so carefully painted onto the metal, and he assumed they continued across his back as well. He never knew what to expect with Steve’s art, but whatever he had thought Steve would paint today, this wasn't it. He wandered aimlessly within the barrier for a few minutes, stretching out his legs, aware that people were staring. He had gone back to scaring people as they came in, but most of those currently in the room had known he wasn't a sculpture, so he assumed they were staring at Steve’s work. Hell, he hoped that’s why they were staring, and that it was the good kind of staring.

Heading back to Steve, he said, “Okay, let’s get this over with,” before climbing back onto the stand, tucking one leg under him, and letting the other hang over the edge, the balls of his foot resting against the floor. He heard the familiar shutter of Steve’s camera, and then saw the flashes as others took the hint and joined in. He gave Steve a rakish half grin, and held his arms out when told to. When he finished taking his photos, Steve looked at the gathering crowd around the barriers, and moved back to Bucky, telling him to play it up, and pose a little. “Can’t do that ‘till you tell me what you've drawn on me, dumbnut.”

Steve shook his head, laughing under his breath, then just said “Wings” before wandering off, presumably to go wash his hands.

Bucky sighed, and set himself so that as much of the painting was visible as possible, then tensed himself, dropping his head slightly to make it harder to make out his face.

* * *

He sat that was for the over an hour, not moving until the last person not part of the artist group had left, then sighed deeply as he straightened, head tipping backwards as he closed his eyes. Steve was mingling with the other artists and their plus-ones, as they started setting up for the post-show dinner. He pushed himself off the platform, took three steps, jumped the barrier, and went to Steve, the first words coming out of his mouth as he got close being “You bloody owe me you ass.” Steve just laughed, arm slipping around his waist, no longer careful of the paint now that the show was over. He introduced the couple he was talking to, and then mentioned that there was a shower in the staff area. Bucky shook his head. “Nah, think I’ll let it stay for a while. I will, however, go put some clothes on, where did you put my bag?”

When he was finally fully dressed again, and had his hands wrapped around another cup of coffee, he returned, coming up behind Steve and wrapping an arm around his waist, sitting his chin on the other man’s shoulder. The paint on his arms had survived well, and the feathers seemed to move on his arms as the light his them. He hadn't bothered with the hoodie, instead just throwing on his tee. It was an art party, so it was only fair that Steve’s work remained visible. He didn't join in on the conversation, just listened quietly as he leaned against his boyfriend. He checked his phone, just as an email from Nat came through, and when he opened the attached file, he groaned softly, holding it up for Steve as he dropped his head against Steve’s shoulder. It was a screencap of one of the news websites. Front and centre was a picture of the two of them, lips locked, covered in paint, with the caption **PUBLICITY STUNT, OR IS CAP GAY FOR HIS BEST FRIEND?** Steve just laughed, taking it in his stride as he did pretty much everything.

“Hey look, we’re famous!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, don't really know what happened there, this was supposed to be short damnit! anyway, enjoy, and as always, you can contact me on my [tumblr](http://twistedshakespeare.tumblr.com) with any questions and comments!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments, questions, prompts etc. are always welcome, both here and at my [tumblr.](http://brickhousebuck.tumblr.com)


End file.
